


Counterparts

by evilgrrl



Series: A Perfect Circle [1]
Category: Pitch Black (2000), The Chronicles of Riddick Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Dominance, F/M, Humiliation, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mild Blood, No Smut, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Prison, Public Humiliation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex, Sexual Slavery, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-05-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 11:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18164588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilgrrl/pseuds/evilgrrl
Summary: This story is a sequel to a previous Pitch Black story that I wrote called A Perfect Circle. See the notes for a summary of that fan fiction.Escaped convict Richard B. Riddick and his new sexual partner, Skyler Givens, try to put together a new life and new identities after the crash of their original ship and subsequent escape from that planet. They have a combustible dominant/submissive sexual relationship and next to no communication skills. Can they navigate staying together, or will their insecurities tear them apart?PLEASE NOTE: This story has a non-linear timeline.The first part of the story takes place in "the present," where Riddick and Skyler are temporarily staying with Skyler's friends, after they survived the original crash and escaped from the planet.After that, the story is made up of their memories "in the past" from the time the Hunter-Gratzner survivors escaped the planet in their little skiff until the present.





	1. The Slave Bracelet

**Author's Note:**

> TO SKIP ANYTHING POSSIBLY NON-CONSENSUAL, START AFTER  
> "~ ~ ~ ~  
> In the past..."  
> or start on Chapter 2.  
> *  
> Summary of A Perfect Circle:  
>   
> It helps to have seen the movie, but my story diverges from canon.  
>   
> In the movie, a ship called the Hunter-Gratzner crashed while carrying passengers traveling to various destinations.
> 
> The surviving passengers included:  
>   
> Docking Pilot Carolyn Fry,  
>   
> Dangerous prison escapee Richard B. Riddick (Vin Diesel), who had gotten his eyes "shined" while in prison to allow him to see in the dark, but which now cause him pain when exposed to the light,  
>   
> Armed bounty hunter William Johns who was taking Riddick back to prison,  
>   
> Stowaway teenager Jack,  
>   
> Settler Shazza Montgomery, and  
>   
> Skyler, a young woman traveling for business.  
>   
> Skyler befriended Riddick while he was in confinement, and the two began a relationship, to the surprise of the other survivors, who ostracized him. Eventually, Riddick killed Johns, who was planning to kill him.  
>    
> Instead of being wiped out by dangerous alien life forms as they were in the movie, the survivors stayed on the planet just long enough to locate a previous settlement that had left behind a skiff they could use to escape.  
>    
> * * *  
> This was my first foray into fan fiction a long time ago. I wrote this for a small group of friends, and we didn't include trigger warnings of any kind, although I'm happy to use them now. We traded stories about our sexual fantasies, and a lot of them were non-consensual. They were not intended to be representative of any kind of real sexual abuse, which is illegal and immoral, and this story is only my own fantasy of being dominated. Please don't read it if you think it might trigger you.  
>    
> Since it was my fantasy, my self-insert character consented to everything that happened, and in fact, I came up with the scenario in the first place. Many people fantasize about things they wouldn't want to do in real life. Such is the nature of fantasy.  
> 

_The Present ___

____

____

The slave bracelet had been the first thing. Oh, it was pretty all right, but she wouldn't ever be able to take it off. Ever. He'd welded the two ends together around her wrist, and nothing short of a blacksmith's chisel or a laser could get it off. The ring too. They were attached to each other, the ring to the bracelet -- like Skyler to Riddick -- and neither one could be removed. 

It was an ingenious device, really, Skyler thought to herself, looking at it. First you put on the ring, which was connected to the bracelet by these little chains, then you weld the bracelet on -- the two chains from the bracelet met with the one from the ring to form a Y over the back of the hand. You had to make sure that the little chains weren't long enough to let you take the ring off. But even if you miscalculated that, and could get the ring off, the bracelet was there for keeps. Better hope it didn't catch on anything. Good thing he'd put it on her left hand instead of her right. Skyler herself thought the bracelet alone probably would have been enough without the ring, but it hadn't been up to her, had it? 

He'd had everything prepared before she knew anything about it. The smooth gold bracelet was already the right size, not tight, but small enough so that it would never fit over her fingers and thumb. He had probably sized it using his own hands -- he had taken her by the wrists often enough to know what size they were. The ring, she later determined, he'd sized by using another ring that she wore -- had worn -- constantly. The Y of the chains came together in a pendant etched with Riddick's personal symbol: a stylized sunburst. The ring, which would have looked like a wedding band under other circumstances, was plain. 

"This is for you," he'd said, and she couldn't quite tell if he meant it as straightforwardly as it sounded, or if he had some vague idea that this was a gift. The bracelet had looked like a little pool of gold in his palm. 

"It's pretty," she said. Then, looking closer, "What is it?" 

He straightened it out with his other hand to show her its design. "It's a slave bracelet," he said, slowly and deliberately, baiting her, his deep voice daring her to object. He seemed to relish these confrontations, knowing very well that he would prevail in the end. 

Skyler, however, couldn't quite grasp what was happening. "And you want me to wear it?" 

Riddick set down the bracelet and turned to heat up his little welding laser. "You're going to wear it," he said firmly. 

A statement, not a question, as though she had already been arguing with him about it. 

"You've got to be kidding." She laughed just a little bit. It seemed unreal, as if he had said he was going to turn her into a toad, or a magic rabbit. 

He didn't look at her. With his goggles on, concentrating on what he was doing, Riddick's face was a mask. "You think so?" 

TW

And that was when it sunk in, really sunk in, what he was going to do to her, what he was really turning her into: his slave. Slavery wasn't 100% legal, but out here in the badlands, possession was still nine-tenths of the law. Once the bracelet was on, everyone who saw her would regard her as his property. 

Skyler jumped up from her seat and ran, looking for a place where she could lock him out until she could find some way to change his mind. Or maybe 'til her friends came home. 

He probably could have just reached out and grabbed her to keep her from running, but he knew she didn't have any place to go. She heard him coming after her, as she frantically raced through the empty house. Most of the rooms here didn't even have doors, much less ones that locked. 

Outside or up the stairs? Outside there was no place to hide and no place to go. Her friends had taken the vehicle, of course, and she didn't think there was any refuge within walking distance, even if she thought she could somehow outrun him. Upstairs then; maybe find someplace to hide. 

Riddick was following her slowly, calmly, with the confidence of a hunter tracking some small, inconsequential prey. He would catch her, sooner or later, and then he would have his way. It was inevitable. 

She raced up the stairs breathlessly, tripping once and almost falling. Upstairs wasn't much of an improvement. She stumbled into their bedroom, but there was no place to hide where he wouldn't find her right away: under the bed, in the closet, behind the shower curtain in the tub. . . that was her last thought as she bolted toward the bathroom door -- which she was inexplicably unable to open. Inexplicable except for the huge brown hand holding it closed. How had he caught up with her so fast? 

She shrieked a little as she turned, and propelled herself right into him. It was like running into a wall. Clearly, she was trapped, and she began to panic, striking out at him. He subdued her easily, pulling her arms behind her back and gripping both wrists firmly in one hand. Then he put his other arm around her waist and pulled her body up tight against his. 

Still she struggled. Her throat was constricting. She couldn't get any air. His body was going to smother her. But slowly, gradually, as Riddick held her motionless with her head against his chest, she began to hear his heartbeat and strong, measured breathing. At last, it calmed her and she found she could breathe more normally again. She realized that the battle was already lost, and her whole body went slack as she stopped resisting. 

Her voice sounded hoarse and desperate, even to her. "Please don't. Please don't put that on me," she pleaded into the muscles of his chest. He heard her anyway. 

"Come on, now," he answered lightly. "It's not that bad. I'm just making it official, that's all. Nothing changes." 

"I'm not your slave," she whispered, her voice breaking. 

Riddick's voice was still light as if he were humoring her in some way. "Sure you are." 

She tensed up again and tried to twist away, but he was like a rock. "I'm not!" 

Becoming serious, he grasped her body more firmly, then pulled her back a little, so he could look down into her face. "Then what are you?" 

She couldn't see his eyes at all, just her own reflection in his goggles. 

She didn't know. She wished for a more traditional word: wife, lover, girlfriend. But slave was as good a term as any, and it was more accurate than the others were. 

"Nothing," she murmured in surrender. "I'm yours." 

Now Riddick's tone was hard and bitter. "That's right. I own you! Just as surely as the Slam ever owned me." 

He pulled her back against him fiercely, feeling no resistance from her at all anymore. 

"You're mine. You belong to me." 

He said nothing more, but the completion of his thought echoed silently through his head: and I belong to you. 

The girl's fear, her submission and the adrenaline of the chase, had aroused Riddick. Her musky smell, the sheen of perspiration on her neck and shoulders, her ragged breathing, only increased his urgency. He wanted to take her then and there, to make her his. He hadn't planned to. But he could feel her all down the length of his body, her plump little breasts pressing into his stomach, her soft round arms brushing against his. Then he felt her begin to tremble, heard her breath hitch as she began to cry, and he lowered her to the floor, taking off his goggles as he went. 

She lay motionless on the carpet as he knelt between her legs. "Raise your arms." 

She did as he told her to, barely moving as he pulled her tank top over her head and unbuttoned her pants. Her passivity excited him even more, and he kicked away her shoes and tugged her pants off completely. It would have seemed like a rape, had her body not opened to him, had she not taken hold of him to help him enter her, just as he had known she would. He could always tell when she was primed for him, but he'd checked just the same, and, as always, liked what he found. She was wet and ready.

Now she shivered and whimpered as he ravished her, but did nothing to resist. On the contrary, he found her arms and legs wrapped around him tightly, gripping his waist and trying to bring him even closer to her, deeper into her, as if he could disappear into her entirely. It did nothing to diminish his brutality. 

He brought her to orgasm quickly, and just as quickly, he was done. By then the girl was ragged with exhaustion. She lay breathless and crying on the floor as he found one of his t-shirts to put on her. She raised her arms without being asked this time and he pulled the shirt on over her head. Then he brought a soft cloth from the bathroom to wash her face, which he kissed gently after she stopped crying. He sat down beside her on the floor and brought her into his lap. She didn't resist as he drew her arms up around his neck, bringing her face into the crook of his throat. They sat that way together for several minutes as Riddick stroked her hair and rocked her. Then, at last, he picked her up as he stood, and carried her down the stairs. 

Riddick set her down on a soft, thick rug in front of the fireplace. Methodically he handcuffed her right hand to the iron fireplace cover to keep her from struggling again. He didn't want to burn her getting the thing on, and he wanted to make everything fit just perfectly. He placed both the ring and the bracelet on her hand and admired the way they shone in the soft light. Then it was time to weld the bracelet shut. Skyler tried to scoot back away from him when he approached her with the little hand-held laser, but the handcuffs kept her neatly in place. 

"Don't fight me now," he told her, like a teacher to a child who knows better than to try to avoid her punishment. "I'll just chain up that other hand if you don't keep still, so be a good girl." 

That seemed to do the trick, and she sat quiet and still until he had everything on and adjusted to his satisfaction. The gold gleamed against her skin. It was beautiful. 

"Never thought I'd be putting chains on somebody else," he laughed. "I'll probably be taking up bounty hunting next". 

Finished with the metalwork, Riddick put his tools away. He even started to unlock Skyler's handcuffs, but she looked so tantalizing in the candlelight, so vulnerable. And the fact that she now wore his sunburst on her hand made her even more exquisite. Besides, he always hated to miss an opportunity, even one that followed so close on the heels of the last. He took out another set of handcuffs and secured Skyler's left wrist to the other end of the fireplace cover. Now she was perfectly positioned.

She looked up suddenly through the hair that had fallen into her eyes. "I'm being still," she protested. 

"Uh-huh," he agreed as he took off his goggles. 

Skyler shook her head, trying to clear away the stray hair. Riddick gently brushed it away from her face. "I thought you were done," she ventured tentatively. 

Riddick peeled off his shirt and then began to unbutton his pants. 

"Not yet." 

That night as they lay together in bed, Skyler looked at the bracelet in the darkness and wondered why she'd fought him so hard. Riddick always got his way in the end. 

~ ~ ~ 

_In the past_

She remembered the first time she had tried to argue with him, on the skiff they had used to escape the planet where they'd crashed. The craft was tiny and there was very little privacy. But Riddick had insisted on having sex at least once a day, sometimes twice. If Fry was piloting the ship, Riddick just took Skyler's hand and pulled her back into the tiny bathroom, grinning wolfishly as he announced, "Break time!" to the rest of the passengers. 

Skyler was mortified that the others could hear everything they did in there, but she was never able to talk Riddick out of their semi-public displays. The one time she had tried to physically resist being taken to the little bathroom, he had simply pulled her out of her seat, slung her over his shoulder, and carried her. Skyler didn't ever want to experience that humiliation again, so after that, she simply submitted and tried to make as little noise as possible, which wasn't always easy. Sometimes she bit her lip until it bled to keep from crying out as he pleasured her, and Riddick licked away the blood. 

It had been a little better when Riddick was piloting the ship. He always made her sit up front with him in the co-pilot's chair when it was his shift. When the mood seized him, as it often did at "night" when the others were asleep, he'd simply pull across a makeshift curtain he'd rigged up between the passenger cabin and the cockpit, and take her. They had a lot more space in the cockpit than in the bathroom, and the chairs even reclined all the way back. All the same, Skyler often wondered if their love-making woke the others, and felt self-conscious when the shift was over and she rejoined them in the back compartment. 

Riddick, on the other hand, flaunted his sudden, ferociously active sex life. They had treated him as less than a man before, and now he wanted to rub their noses in his virility as often as possible. Besides, this was the first time he had ever had a woman of his own, and he intended to make the most of it. 

The second time Fry took over the pilot's chair from him, he pulled Skyler up with him, looked at the co-pilot's chair sadly and said, "Lonely cockpit up here for you, Carolyn. If I'd known it was going to be like this, maybe I'd have let Johns live." Fry scowled the first couple of times he made remarks like that, but soon she was almost immune to him. 

Even when they weren't having sex, Riddick couldn't seem to keep his hands off of her. He usually had her sit on his lap back in the passenger compartment, or lay her head down on his thighs to sleep. Other times he merely put his arm around her and sheltered her with his body as they both slept. 

Skyler seemed to sense his constant need of her, and she developed her own habits of touching him -- rubbing his shoulders when he was piloting, brushing lightly against him as they stood next to each other, or just snuggling up against him when they sat together. He seemed to relish the contact, to thrive on it. Soon it seemed as if they were always touching at some point, whether he was pressing gently against her back to move her down to the bathroom, or stretching out in the pilot's chair with his feet in her lap. 

Of course, Jack and the two surviving Muslim boys were excited beyond belief to be able to witness sex, or almost witness it, so close first hand. The Muslim boys were shy, but Jack was not, and more than once, Riddick had tweaked his nose to stop him from spying, saying, "Scat, dickhead!" 

Riddick wasn't sure what the big attraction was. Obviously, he was precocious about sex, but even at other times, Riddick found Jack staring at him and Skyler. Maybe Jack had a crush on her, or maybe he was interested in her because he wanted to copy Riddick in every way. Riddick didn't know and cared less. Nothing Jack would see them doing was going to damage him, and as long as he left them reasonably alone, Riddick wasn't going to bust his balls about it. He was, after all, the kid's idol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to http://www.art-of-vin-diesel.com for keeping a copy of my Pitch Black stories for so many years, as well as fan fiction from many other writers and art from fan artists, as well as a collection of pictures and other artistic endeavors.


	2. The Freighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once the passengers on the skiff are rescued, Skyler worries that the other survivors will identify Riddick to the authorities so he can be sent back to prison. 
> 
> Riddick's worries center on a bounty hunter he spots surveilling him, and on whether Skyler will attempt to ditch him as soon as she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Chapter 1, which happens in the present, Riddick forced Skyler to wear a slave bracelet, which was welded on. He made her admit that she belonged to him. 
> 
> Then the story flashed back to the time right after they escaped from the planet with other crash survivors. 
> 
> Riddick wanted sex frequently with Skyler while on the escape skiff, to her embarrassment in such close quarters, but they both enjoyed their blossoming relationship.

They had been on the skiff just a little over a week when it was finally picked up by a freighter. Skyler had been nervous when they first sighted the ship, and now she felt fear looming over her the way the rapidly approaching freighter was looming over the skiff. Except for the crash they had just survived, she'd never been in a situation where so much was at stake before. If one of their fellow passengers identified Riddick to the authorities, they would take him back to prison, and she knew he'd rather be killed first. 

Skyler had always disliked situations like this, in which she had no control. Of course, that was an occupational hazard for a freelancer like herself who moved around constantly, but she usually minimized the risks by staying with friends or traveling with people her friends had recommended to her. In her line of work -- media communications and networking -- the web of connections went both far and wide. Recommendations from known sources were a necessity, especially when the job involved something a little less than legal, like creating fake travel authorizations. Sarah made enough money on her legitimate projects that she could afford to pass up under the table jobs from strangers. And if you couldn't find someone to vouch for you, you were probably a bad risk. Skyler, for example, had a friend, or a friend of a friend, on almost every colonized planet in the main quadrant, the badlands, and even the frontier. She usually got all the shady deals she could handle just from referrals. 

Although document forging and hacking were both technically illegal - as well as frowned on by local law enforcement - forgers and hackers hardly ever went to jail. Most of their jobs were legitimate ones and the ones that weren't were pretty low profile. Even if they were caught -- usually through laziness or crossing the wrong person, both of which Skyler avoided strenuously -- they could almost always work out a deal with somebody to avoid real punishment. The worst treatment they usually received was "community service work" for the local authorities and a one-way ticket out. Riddick, on the other hand, was facing a chemical lobotomy if he were sent back to the slam. Just the thought of it made Skyler cringe. 

While Skyler worried and fidgeted, Riddick himself was as calm as ever, sitting in the co-pilot's chair while Fry docked with the freighter. Skyler would never had known how he really felt if she had not been there, watching, when Johns had cut him loose back on the planet. He had taken the shotgun away from Johns, and the emotions she had seen pouring across his face as he fought to control himself told the story. He'd wanted to kill Johns very badly for the pain and degradation Johns had forced upon him, and he had just barely been able to pull himself back from the brink. She'd never seen him like that again, but his hidden fear and desperation haunted her. 

Sometimes, at night, on the rare occasion when she woke to find Riddick sleeping, she saw a sense of openness on his face that almost frightened her. It was the vulnerability that he had buried deep within himself, protected by all the walls he'd built between himself and the world. 

There was no trace of vulnerability on his face now, however, as he and Fry waited for the others to disembark before leaving the little skiff themselves. It was tradition for the pilots to see the passengers off before they themselves left, and Riddick wanted no break in routine to make anyone suspicious. 

Skyler stepped off right ahead of Riddick, and watched as he and Fry shook the Captain's hand and introductions were made. Fry kept her part of the bargain, introducing Riddick as Dick Richards -- a coy play on his real name -- a bounty hunter who'd helped pilot the skiff when all the other crew perished in the crash. His shined eyes had limited Riddick's cover story considerably since only convicts and their keepers had it done to them. The Captain didn't seem to find it odd, though, and Skyler breathed a sigh of relief when they were shown to their makeshift quarters. 

There was actually plenty of room on the freighter since it was making its return journey to the main quadrant, and most of the traffic went the other way. On the voyage home, a freighter was all but a ghost ship, picking up and dropping off mostly cargo. 

Another crew member showed them to their quarters. Skyler dropped her little bag on the floor and fell back onto the big king bed, luxuriating in the softness of the mattress and the freshness of the blankets. After lowering the lights and taking off his goggles, Riddick sat down on the bed with her. He took off his boots and began massaging his feet. 

"Almost looks like we're on a fucking cruise ship, doesn't it?" he asked as he took in their surroundings. "After that little skiff, anyway. What do you want to do first? Eat? Shall we dine on the promenade deck this evening, madam?" 

"I'd rather take a long, hot shower." 

"Good idea," Riddick agreed as he began taking off the rest of his clothes. 

"I can wait if you want to go first," she offered tentatively. She was rewarded with one of Riddick's rare grins. 

"There's no first or second! Get those clothes off, girl. I'm gonna scrub you 'til I can see my reflection!" he ordered playfully. 

Riddick's doubts had started that first night aboard the freighter. Maybe Skyler had only hooked up with him because he'd been the best of a bad bunch. He had been the one most able to protect her back on the planet, and maybe that was the real reason she'd latched onto him. Maybe now that her options were open again, she would find someone better and move on. He wanted her to stay with him, but more importantly, he wanted her to want to stay with him; he needed her to. But he obviously couldn't force her to want to be with him . . . or could he? Was there a way to make her want him? 

He began to make plans immediately, both for his escape off the freighter and for taking Skyler with him. 

After they had showered together, they went down to the galley to get a quick meal, which they took back to their room. Skyler seemed to be winding down to sleep, but Riddick was energizing himself with some coffee and preparing to go out. She lay on the bed watching him, and it was obvious that she wanted to know where he was going and why. But she wasn't going to ask. And it would be better -- safer -- for him not to tell her anything, so he didn't. 

He put on his goggles on his way to the door. "I'm going out." 

He stared back at her a minute, judging, estimating, gaging her mood. 

"Be here when I get back," he finally growled as the door swung shut. 

He moved about the freighter, learning what he needed to know, but really his mind was on Skyler. He knew she would probably leave him the first chance she got, and how could he blame her? Would it be tonight that she fled to one of the other cabins, appealed to one of the other survivors for help? Fry maybe? Fry would feel sorry for her. She would take her in. Or Shazza. They had acted like friends after Shazza's husband was killed. But no, Skyler had looked content enough on the bed when he left. 

She would probably wait until she could actually leave the ship before she tried to get away from him. That would be the smart thing to do, instead of trying it now when they were cooped up together on the same ship. Riddick guessed she would probably stay with him until they docked at the next stopover, so he had until then to decide what to do. 

Riddick didn't know it, but offers of help from the other crash survivors had already come and gone aboard the skiff before it was picked up by the freighter. He'd seldom left Skyler alone -- less from lack of trust and more from the desire to have her with him constantly. He let her use the bathroom by herself, and he usually did the same, but that was really the only time they were apart. Occasionally he left her back in the passenger area when Fry wanted to talk to him briefly about the ship or the flight plan up in the cockpit. It had been during one of those times that Shazza had made her offer to Skyler. They were already sitting next to each other, so it was easy for Shazza to simply turn her head and speak softly into Skyler's ear. "How're you doin', Skyler? Are you all right?" 

"Yeah, I'm all right," she said, a little surprised at the suddenness of the question, but touched nevertheless. "How are you?" she asked, thinking of Shazza's grief over Zeke. 

"Bugger that!" Shazza blurted out. "I'm talking about Riddick!" She tried to keep her voice down. "Is he hurting you?" 

"No," Skyler whispered back, feeling embarrassed, but finally understanding. "He doesn't . . . it's not like that." 

Shazza rolled her eyes, then gave a quick look at Fry and Riddick up in the cockpit before continuing. "It looks like it to me. I mean, the way he drags you around and mauls you all the time . . . taking you into that bathroom at all hours of the day." 

Skyler felt herself turning red. "I knew you could hear us back there," she said in humiliation. "I'll bet you can hear everything." 

Shazza looked at her in slowly dawning amazement. "Cripes, you *like* it, don't you?" 

Skyler looked down at her hands, even more self-conscious now than before. "Well, yeah. . . don't you?" 

Shazza's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Bloody hell!" 

"I mean, with someone you like. Like Zeke." 

The mention of Shazza's dead husband brought a little sadness to her face. "Yeah, I did like it quite a lot with me Zeke. But Riddick? He's a fucking animal." 

"No, he's not!" Skyler whispered with sudden intensity, wondering why she felt the need to defend him so urgently. "He's . . . good! He takes care of me!" 

Skyler felt ready to snap at Shazza in anger and embarrassment, but fortunately, Riddick picked that moment to come back to the passenger section and take his seat next to Skyler. Casually he put his hand on her thigh and squeezed it lightly as he settled back and closed his eyes behind his goggles. Skyler put her own hand over Riddick's and smiled knowingly at Shazza, who looked at their interlocked fingers as if they were a nest of rattlesnakes. 

"Well, suit yourself, dearie," she said quietly with a sigh. "Let me know if you change your mind." And with that, she settled back herself to try to get some rest. 

Skyler snuggled against Riddick until he put his arm around her. Then she softly laid one hand on his stomach and leaned her head on his chest until sleep finally fell upon her too. 

The night of their arrival on the freighter, Skyler slept in the cabin, while Riddick brooded as he explored the ship silently. He began to memorize its layout, the routine of its crew, and the route it was taking to the next stop -- a fairly large, intergalactic port of call -- where the ship would get routine maintenance, and the crew would get a little shore leave. 

The logical thing to do, he determined, would be to wait until the freighter docked there, then disappear into the crowd. Therefore Riddick planned on getting off the freighter before it docked. That would buy him a little extra time and maybe throw the bounty hunters off his trail a bit since they would logically assume he had disembarked at the port, and start looking for him there. 

The freighter itself was laid out in a slightly unconventional pattern for a non-cryo passenger ship, but Riddick caught on to its design quickly enough. The two engines were on the lowest deck, below the cargo bays, of which there were five groups of five each. The next highest level held the coach class travelers, and the one above it the crew. The top two levels were for first class passengers and all the ship's dining rooms, shops, and amusement centers, most of which were closed during the voyage back. 

Their little run-down skiff was easy enough to locate in one of the cargo bays. It had been stored with some other unwanted items that could possibly be salvaged later, much like the skiff itself. That was one of the reasons Riddick decided to use it for his escape -- no one owned it or wanted it, and it wasn’t really even worth the sum of its parts, so it was unlikely anyone would go after him just to retrieve it. It needed some work, of course -- a long distance radio system, some weaponry, and definitely some engine work -- but that was all to Riddick’s liking. He preferred to outfit it himself. 

He’d also need to stock it up with oxygen, food, water, and fuel. The first three wouldn’t be difficult to get, but the fuel would be a bit harder. 

Fuel cells were expensive and hard to come by. They’d be hidden under lock and key somewhere. They’d be hard to find, and even harder to steal. But Riddick was confident in his abilities. He’d done more difficult things. 

He was looking around the inside of the skiff -- it hadn’t been touched since their arrival -- when he heard a noise from out in the cargo bay. He made sure the entry ramp was sealed, then went forward to the front window to investigate. He didn’t have the lights on, naturally, so he could see out into the well-lit bay without anyone being able to see into the dark ship. 

There was someone in the bay with him. It took a few minutes, but the intruder finally walked past the front of the craft where Riddick was able to see him. Big man, long blond pony-tail, big tattooed arms. Late twenties, maybe. And he had that hard, seasoned look of a soldier, or a cop, or a merc. The man was circling the ship, looking at damage it had sustained before Riddick had ever seen it. He even tried to open the boarding ramp, but Riddick had it locked down tight. Finally, the man gave the skiff one long, last look before he turned and left the cargo bay. 

Riddick waited a good twenty minutes inside the skiff to make sure the man was not coming back. Then Riddick himself slipped out and made his way back towards his cabin, wondering who the man was and what he wanted along the way. He couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but there was something *wrong* about the guy. He raised Riddick’s hackles. And Riddick had learned through hard experience that when he ignored his instincts, he usually regretted it. Therefore his blond friend was going to warrant a little closer inspection. Riddick put it on his list of things to do. 

He put the man away in the back of his mind when he entered the cabin and saw Skyler sleeping, her body wrapped around a pillow. Here was another dilemma. Riddick considered his options as he undressed, watching her. Slipping into bed, he finally decided he could probably still control her fairly well for a while, so he would have time to figure out what to do about her later. 

Riddick closed his jaguar eyes and tried to sleep, but the thoughts kept coming. He could always force Skyler to go with him, if he really wanted to. He could drug her. He could tie her up. He could make go her with a weapon, or threaten to kill her if she didn't go. But then how long would it be before he saw revulsion and resentment on her face? How long until she hated him? He couldn't even stand thinking about it. It stirred up feelings he thought he'd buried a long time ago. Was there some way to trick her into coming with him that she wouldn't find out about eventually? He turned it over and over in his mind, until Skyler sensed his presence in her sleep, and abandoned the pillow to nestle up against him. Then he put his arm around her, let his mind go, and slept.


	3. Riddick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other skiff passengers offer to help Skyler get away from Riddick.
> 
> After landing on the freighter, Riddick thinks about prison and how he used his time in isolation to become such a powerful predator. While he plans his escape from the freighter, he notices a man surveilling him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap of Chapter 2: 
> 
> When the skiff Skyler and Riddick are on is picked up by a freighter, Skyler worries that the other survivors will identify Riddick to the authorities so he can be sent back to prison. She's had some experience with living outside the law as a document forger, but nothing next to Riddick's experience.

The second offer of help aboard the skiff had come from Fry. When Skyler settled down into the co-pilot's chair during one of Riddick's shifts, she found a small note tucked in-between the cushion and the seat. She almost pulled it right out in the open to read it, but then thought better of it and waited 'til she got to the bathroom. She unfolded the little paper and read Fry's no-nonsense block letters: "I can help you get away from him. Write me back. Fry." 

Fry's eyes were bright on her as Skyler came out of the bathroom. Skyler glanced up at Riddick, but he was preoccupied with something on the control console. Skyler dropped the little note into Fry's lap as she passed by, shaking her head a little and smiling. Fry's mouth dropped open and she was barely able to keep from speaking. 

"Ask Shazza," Skyler said quietly as she nodded in Shazza's direction. Shazza had been watching the little drama all along, and she got up to talk to Fry as soon as Skyler sat back down in the cockpit. Skyler trusted that Shazza would explain it to her . . . as much of it as she understood, anyway. Skyler knew they would both think she was crazy, but she couldn't blame them; sometimes she thought she was crazy herself. 

~ ~ ~ 

Of all the maddening aspects of prison life, the worst one for Riddick had been his lack of control, even over his own bodily functions. You were told where to go, what to do, when to do it and how. There was no room for variation. Variation got you a turn in solitary. Riddick had spent a lot of time there. But at least the break in routine it provided reminded him that he was still a man and not just a cog caught in a machine like a million other cogs. He was in charge of his own actions, even if the only actions available to him were to comply or disobey. The only rebellious acts he could achieve were resistance and defiance. He viewed his punishments for them as proof that he was able to have some kind of effect on his environment, even if it was a negative one. 

Of course, even prison had its diversions -- beyond solitary and its other punishments. Eventually Riddick had found other ways to pass the time. He read every book in the prison library -- some twice. Before too long, he began to bribe the other inmates to have their visitors smuggle in books that weren't in the library: medical texts, psychological theories, tomes on classic battle strategies, historical texts, collections of philosophy and poetry. His mind found a way out of prison even if his body couldn't. 

To keep his body occupied, Riddick taught himself tai chi and yoga. In addition to the prison standard of weight lifting, he alternated running with jumping rope to build stamina. He stretched and learned different breathing techniques. He became the master of his own body, if nothing else. And in the boredom of his cell, he learned to do things with his body that he hadn't read about in books. With the help of yoga and meditation, he learned to exert a certain amount of control over his heartbeat and his breathing. He could hypnotize and then release himself at will. He found ways to control pain and rise above it. He began to think almost anything was possible with enough discipline and will power. He began to think about escaping. 

He started training his senses. He had no reason to believe that he had better hearing or eyesight than the average man, but he learned to tune out all sensation except for sound, to pick through the meaningless babble heard on the cell block and follow the threads of individual conversation. He learned to tell who was speaking by memorizing the other inmates' voices. He began to see patterns, how certain vocal characteristics or speech patterns tended to go with particular personality types and behavior styles. He observed his fellow inmates closely and began to decipher their behavior, learning to predict what they would do in most given situations. After awhile, he could tell very soon after meeting a man what his hidden weaknesses were and his untapped strengths. 

Then Riddick trained his eyesight. Despite the way he had shined his eyes, he could still see very well in low light. He mastered the art of stillness, which allowed him to see things that moved too slowly for most people to perceive. He learned how to judge distances based on sight alone, and to estimate spatial relations when both eyes were not available for depth perception. He taught himself to see things that men tried to hide about themselves: a barely perceptible limp, the slight bulge of a shiv hidden in a waistband, the shakes and nausea that junkies got when they were trying to go longer than usual without a hit to make their stash last longer. 

Now Riddick was going to use his powers of observation on the blond man he’d seen looking at the skiff in the cargo bay. He didn’t even consider accessing the ship’s database; it was unlikely he’d find out anything useful from it, and it might tip somebody off if they found out he’d been using it. So he began to make the ship’s rounds every few hours until he saw Blondie at work in the engine room. He was wearing one of the ship’s uniforms and bending over a horizontal panel of some sort. An engineer, then. That at least gave Riddick something to work with. 

He didn’t want to attract too much attention, so he didn’t ask any questions about the guy. Instead he shadowed him and eavesdropped on his conversations. Riddick was still able to pick out the threads of the man’s conversation from all the other voices in the ship’s only open bar. 

Blondie’s real name was Roy Curtis. "Big Roy" sometimes. Riddick didn’t know who "Little Roy" was. Sure enough, Curtis was one of the ship’s engineers, and he worked regular shifts at regular hours. He didn’t really seem to have any friends, and his menacing manner kept most people from approaching him. He did seem to have a regular thing going with one of the women on the kitchen staff, but they didn’t spend any time together outside of her cabin. 

Riddick waited one night until Curtis had gone in to see the woman before he broke into Curtis’s cabin. He lived alone, and the room he slept in was a mess. There were lots of empty food containers, dirty clothes, music and porn discs, but surprisingly few personal items. No pictures. No address book. No ID. There was a hand-held reader in the room, but all it held were pulp novels. Curtis had not personalized his room in any way, which in itself was odd. Almost everyone kept some little personal trinkets; even in Slam City, the inmates had been allowed their photos, their pin-ups, and their little trophies. There was nothing of that kind at all in the cabin. Riddick did a quick search for contraband in all the usual places, but found nothing. Reluctantly, he very carefully made sure everything was exactly the way he’d found it, then locked the door from the inside and left. 

If Curtis really were a ship’s engineer, it didn’t make sense that his quarters were so impersonal. If, on the other hand, he were a merc posing as a ship’s engineer, it would make perfect sense. A merc was always on the run and usually didn’t get tied down with possessions. Riddick wondered what he was sniffing around for. Just checking things out? Or had he heard something about Riddick in particular? Well, time would tell. 

It was not long after that when Curtis began to shadow Riddick. Curtis was considerably more obvious than Riddick had been, though, so eventually even Skyler noticed that the man with the pony tail was turning up in all the same places they went. They had just sat down for something to drink in the galley when she mentioned it. 

"Who’s that guy over there? The blond one. With the pony tail. I see him all the time." 

Riddick drank from his bottle of water before answering. "Name’s Curtis. ‘Big Roy’ Curtis, if you can believe that." 

Skyler’s coffee was too hot to drink and she was blowing on it. "I can believe it." 

"Yeah, well, he’s following us around for some reason." 

Skyler looked up at him suddenly. "For some reason? Why?" 

Riddick grinning without humor and shook his head. "I don’t know." 

"But you can guess. He’s a merc, isn’t he?" 

Riddick could hear the first signs of panic creeping into her voice. Better squash that now. "Just relax. He could just be a soldier or something. Maybe he’s got a crush on me." 

Skyler smiled for a second before becoming serious again. "But you think he’s a merc, don’t you?" 

"I don’t know. He creeps me out though, just the same. Like one of those talking chimps you see at the circus." 

This earned an outright laugh from Skyler, and Riddick allowed himself a moment of satisfaction; most people didn’t get his jokes. 

"Do you think he’s on to us?" she asked now. 

"Us? Do you have a bounty on your head too?" 

"You, then," she insisted. "Is he on to you?" 

"I don’t know that either. It could be something as harmless as blackmail maybe. Or maybe he thinks he knows me from somewhere. Funny how he never speaks to us though. Anyway, keep an eye out for him. But don’t let him know it, if you know what I mean. A watched pot gets self-conscious and doesn’t tip its hand." 

Skyler smiled again. "Boils. A watched pot never boils." 

"Whatever." 

Skyler nodded and tried to look in another direction away from Curtis. She started talking about what they would do when they got off the freighter. She’d contact some of her friends, and they’d hide out with them for awhile. Riddick had a hard time believing it was going to happen. She’d known these people for a long time. Why would she want Riddick around if she had somebody else? He listened and nodded politely, however. No sense in arguing about it before he’d decided what he was going to do. 

His plan to get off the freighter was simple enough. He’d gotten the skiff about two-thirds stocked with food and water, and was working on the fuel cells and the long-range radio. He planned to leave about 24 hours before the freighter was due to dock. He’d slip off unseen with no one the wiser. He could even beat the bigger ship to the station, get more supplies and head out before the freighter even made it there. 

Riddick escorted Skyler back to their quarters after she finished her coffee, then he left again to work on the skiff. She'd looked unhappy again when he shut the door to their room. How long would she last before she had to leave him? He didn’t think it would be long now. 

So far, he’d had no problem with access to the skiff in the cargo bay. First of all, it wasn’t even valuable enough to be worth guarding; and second, word had gotten around very quickly that he, Riddick, was a merc, so nobody wanted to fuck with him. The idea that people thought he was a merc was distasteful to him, of course, but as long as it gave him run of the ship, he didn’t really give a fuck. 

This time when he entered the skiff, however, he noticed that all his little entry traps had been set off. The little piece of light, clear tape he’d sealed between the boarding ramp and its doorway had been broken. The hair he’d left on the control console had been disturbed, and the little bit of dirt he’d put on the seat of the captain’s chair had been rubbed off. Someone else had been here. 

Riddick quickly checked all the systems to see if anything had been changed, but it appeared that nothing had been. It looked as if someone had just run a systems check; that wouldn’t have shown anything out of the ordinary. And the traps he’d set around his hidden food and water stores had not been touched. 

Riddick felt his heart beating a little harder in his chest, but there was still no reason to panic. Someone had gotten curious and come aboard to see what kind of shape the skiff was in. Wanted it for salvage or something. 

In the course of running a systems check, however, he saw that someone had tried to access the ship’s log. The password encryption program had kept the intruder out, but it still worried Riddick that someone had looked. He didn’t think there would be anything in the logs to incriminate him as "Dick Richards" the mercenary, and he didn’t think there was any way to tell that he had been Johns’s prisoner aboard the ship either. But the fact that someone had gone to the trouble to try to find out was bothersome. He would have to work faster, in case he had to leave sooner than he’d planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to http://www.art-of-vin-diesel.com for keeping a copy of my Pitch Black stories for so many years, as well as fan fiction from many other writers and art from fan artists, as well as a collection of pictures and other artistic endeavors.


	4. Merc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riddick lets his insecurity get the better of him while he tries to find out who has been tampering with his escape craft.

As the days went on and Riddick became more preoccupied with his escape plans and the question of what to do with Skyler, he instinctively began to withdraw from her, leaving her either alone or with Jack and Shazza, who were apparently planning on going on to the frontier together. Riddick no longer told Skyler his thoughts or his plans, and stayed away from their cabin more than was necessary. He still permitted himself fantasies of taking her with him, but even the fantasies always went bad. He couldn't let himself suspend his disbelief enough to believe -- even in fantasy -- that this would work out right for him. 

Any time before when he'd invested emotional energy in someone or tried to befriend somebody, it had always come back to bite him on the ass. Help somebody get to the top of a hill and you'd get caught in the mudslide they created on their way up. Protect some new fish from a rape and a beating and you ended up in solitary with a horse bit in your mouth. Sometimes the "victim" was grateful or whatever, but somehow no one ever returned the favor. Soon enough Riddick had learned not to get involved with other people's business, and not to expect help from anyone else. 

Only very rarely did Riddick let himself remember that it had been Skyler who had helped him first. With no ulterior motive. She had brought him water and medicine when he was captive and nearly helpless, and she had risked the wrath of his jailer to do it. She had talked to him like he was a real human being instead of some lower form of life, unlike all the other passengers. And there was never, never repugnance or disgust on her face when he touched her. So, protecting her, sharing with her, trusting her -- it was just like repaying the favor, right? Or it had been, anyway. At least at first. But then . . . it was at that point that Riddick always felt his rationalizations beginning to slip away, so he quickly turned his mind to something else. Like getting off the ship safely. 

He had come to the conclusion that it had been Curtis that had been in the skiff. After realizing someone had been there, Riddick had staked it out from the safety of a dark storage container in the same bay. Curtis had appeared a few hours later. He walked in like he owned it and pressed the big release that would lower the entry ramp. It didn’t work, though, since Riddick had changed the security code. That wasn’t what it looked like, though. He’d rigged the ramp to give off loud grinding noises and little electronic beeps for a few seconds whenever the button was pushed without the right access code. 

Hopefully, Curtis would believe the ship was just showing its age and come back later. The big blond man looked around suspiciously, but after a moment or two, he disappeared from the cargo bay, and Riddick didn’t see him again until he spotted Curtis on his next work shift. 

That evening as Skyler and Riddick relaxed in their cabin after dinner, Riddick thought he sensed someone outside their door. He had been listening to some music while Skyler read when his senses suddenly became alert. What was it? A sound outside? A smell? He wasn’t sure, but he had the distinct feeling somebody was standing just outside the door. 

It didn’t have a peephole, so all Riddick could do was go to the door silently and listen. When the doorknob jiggled, it was just barely perceptible. He heard the quiet clicks of someone trying to slip a lock pick in between the door and the jamb, then a few stealthy footfalls away from the door when it failed to open. Riddick waited a few minutes before opening the door. No one was there, but he felt certain it had been Curtis. 

Riddick wasn’t sure what to do. If Curtis was a merc, he was being rather slow in tipping his hand. Most bounty hunters would have taken him into custody right away, rather than risk his escape. Especially if the person in question seemed to have his own little skiff. 

Now Riddick had to decide if he wanted to leave the ship before he’d planned in order to avoid possible capture, or if he wanted to put Curtis out of commission. The latter was awfully tempting, but Riddick knew a dead body -- especially that of a mercenary -- would raise all kinds of suspicions, and might even prompt some cop to go after the missing skiff. It would be better -- safer -- just to leave. 

The freighter was about two and a half days away from docking at the station. Riddick was on his way to the skiff to run some final checks on the main drive, and then he’d get while the getting was good. 

Skyler had been silent and wan when he’d left. Was she trying to figure out how to get away from him? Was she counting the hours until she was free? There was a tight feeling in Riddick’s chest whenever he thought about it. Why did she have this power over him? It made him just want to kill someone. 

Once again the fantasy of just taking her regardless of the consequences began to play out in his mind as he entered the cargo bay. He was imagining drugging her and carrying her onboard with him when suddenly a wire wrapped itself around his neck. 

It would never have happened if Riddick had been paying attention to what he was doing. Obviously, the attacker was behind or above him, since he was out of Riddick's line of sight. Riddick calculated that the attack came from above based on the upward movement of the wire as it tightened around his neck. He didn't respond the way most people would, by trying to pull the wire away, which was almost completely useless. Instead, he brought out his shiv in the space of a breath, and the wire was cut almost as quickly. Riddick wasted no time, but reached up with his other hand and grabbed onto the man who had just tried to strangle him. 

It was Curtis, of course, hanging by his knees from a pipe overhead. He dropped the ruined garroting wire and pulled out some kind of switchblade, which he began to swipe at Riddick in long, sweeping arcs. Without releasing his hold on the man, Riddick began stabbing at him with the shiv and trying to pulling him off of the overhead pipes that gave him the advantage. Curtis responded in kind with the switchblade, slashing at the hand Riddick held him with. 

Grimacing, Riddick dropped his own shiv and grabbed onto Curtis’s knife by the blade. He ignored the pain where the blade cut into his palm and slid his hand down the haft. When he reached Curtis’s hand, he caught hold of it and concentrated on finding the nerve that would allow Riddick to disarm him. The blood was flowing freely from Riddick’s hand now, making both their hands slippery, and the nerve he was looking for even harder to locate. Ah, that was it. The man let go of the switchblade as he screamed in pain and surprise, and Riddick used that moment to knock his knife away and haul him down from overhead. 

Riddick felt every ounce of the big man’s weight when Curtis landed right on top of him. Then there was another knife in his attacker’s hand as he struggled to keep his position. Curtis tried to force the blade right into Riddick’s face, but Riddick was ahead of him. Blocking Curtis’s knife hand with his own, he pulled the man's legs out from under her, planted them on the man’s stomach and pushed. Blondie immediately lost his grip and flew at least a couple of meters back. 

Riddick leaped to his feet and pounced on Curtis, like a panther on an antelope. He had retrieved his own shiv without even being aware of it, and now he brought it up to the man’s neck. He was able to apply pressure so perfectly that the edge of the knife just barely broke the skin’s surface, creating a thin thread of blood. Then the shiv found a new place at the base of his opponent's throat. "Drop that fucking knife before I take a shower in your blood, asshole!" Riddick bellowed into the man’s face. Curtis continued to struggle, and Riddick’s knife began to pierce the skin of his neck. Reluctantly Curtis dropped the knife, and Riddick slapped it out of reach. 

"Go ahead, you fucking merc! Let’s see what my ragged ass is worth these days!" Blondie yelled back. 

Now it began to make more sense. Riddick had forgotten that by posing as a merc himself, he would inspire fear and dread from everyone else with a price on his head. So this man, Curtis, rather than being a bounty hunter, was in fact, one of the hunted. He was probably checking out the skiff to see if he could learn anything about "Dick Richards," the merc. Riddick felt a second of empathy for him before he extinguished it and let his anger take over again. 

So, while Riddick had been afraid Curtis was a mercenary, Curtis had been afraid of the same thing with Riddick. He briefly savored the irony. 

Well, there was no need for Riddick to enlighten him. In fact, it was probably to his advantage to keep up the pretense. He kept his shiv at the man’s throat as he sat down hard on his stomach and considered. 

What would a guy like this be wanted for? Riddick could see the broken blood vessels in the man’s eyes that indicated heavy drug use and guessed that he was a dealer as well.

"Where’s your stash, asshole?" 

Curtis tried once again to struggle before Riddick’s shiv drew a little more blood. Riddick had to hand it to him for being persistent. 

"Behind the ceiling light in my cabin," he finally blurted out. "The panel comes off." 

Riddick hadn’t heard that one before. Well, you learn something new every fucking day. 

Curtis chose that exact moment to surprise Riddick by biting into his knife hand. The hand almost acted of its own accord to cut the man’s throat. Instead, Riddick restrained himself and went with a method that would appear a lot less suspicious than a slashed aorta.

"Dumb mutherfucker," he sighed as he wrapping his big hands around the man's neck. Suffocation usually looked a lot more natural than stabbing or mutilation, as tempting as those were. If Riddick were lucky, no one would take much trouble to investigate the death, especially if Riddick hid the body in some comfy little out-of-the-way spot, left the man's drug paraphernalia with him, and wiped off his own fingerprints. Just another OD'ed hype with no next of kin. They'd dump his body out in space or bury him somewhere if someone wanted to take the trouble. In any case, he wasn't Riddick's problem anymore.


	5. Exit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riddick leaves without Skyler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an emotionally intense scene in the beginning that details some somewhat abusive language.
> 
> If you want to avoid it, the next sentence afterward starts, "Finally she opened her eyes."

Riddick left while Skyer was sleeping. That had been the plan, anyway. He had not been able to figure out how to bring her with him, so he had hardened his heart against her and begun to think in the cold, mechanical way he had when faced with any kind of danger. Not that he expected any, now that Curtis was gone, but the only reason Curtis had been able to attack him in the first place was that he hadn't been concentrating on what he was doing. He would not let himself be distracted again, by anyone or anything. He was not even going to allow himself one last glance back at her. It could only anger him. 

With his bag over his shoulder, he made his way to the doorway in the darkness. But when he opened the door, the glare of the brightly-lit hallway outside struck him like a blow. He'd forgotten to put on his goggles. And Riddick *never* forgot to put on his goggles. What the fuck was wrong with him? He grunted in pain as he dropped his bag to the floor and the door swung shut. 

He'd woken her up, of course, dammit. She turned on the dim bedside lamp, so she could see him. "What's going on? Where are you going?" 

Riddick picked the bag back up and put on the goggles. He didn't look at her and kept the irritation out of his voice. "Out." 

He was reaching for the doorknob when she spoke again. "No, you're not -- you're leaving!" She sounded so surprised, so alarmed. He turned to look at her as she sat up looking slightly stunned, her hair all tangled from sleep. It was as if *she* were accusing *him* of something. 

Sarcastic superiority was usually a good response. Goggles in place, Riddick opened the door again and said over his shoulder, "Well, it's been fun and all, honey, but, you know . . . " 

"But you were going to take me with you!" she protested, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. 

Riddick felt a flare of real rancor towards her. He had wanted to avoid any hateful arguments or painful last scenes, and here she was provoking one. When he was practically doing her a favor even. "You'd just slow me down." 

"No, I wouldn't." She shook her head, eyes darting around in confusion. "You just . . . you just don't want me anymore." Her voice trailed off to a whisper and she looked as if she were realizing it just as she said it. 

Riddick said nothing as his rage built. 

She looked away from him. "You're just done with me, that's all. God, I am *so* fucking stupid!" 

He wanted to choke her, until he saw how she begin to withdraw into herself, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them in genuine distress. She rested her head face down on her knees as she began to cry. 

"It's all right," she choked out. "It's my fault. I just thought . . . you liked me." 

Riddick held his breath as he felt his heart crack. Could she possibly be saying what he thought she was? 

"It's okay though," she continued. "I can . . . call somebody. Somebody'll come get me. I just should have known better . . ." 

Torn between latent hope and building frustration, Riddick lost control and turned on her. "Known better than what? Than to play house with a convicted killer? Than to play with fucking fire? Yeah, you should have!" She had toyed with him, and now she was going to pay for it. 

Desolate, she just kept crying. He dropped his bag and approached her, the muscles of his enormous body rippling as he tensed up. 

"Did you think that we'd go live happily ever after somewhere? Raise a bunch of rug rats? It doesn't work that way, Skyler. Grow the fuck up, will you?" 

He took her by the shoulders and shook her, then pushed her down on her back. He didn't know what to do. This hadn't been part of the plan, and now he found all these unexpected feelings surfacing. It was as if all the pain and rage and bitterness he'd ever felt toward the women who'd rejected him, who'd laughed at him, who'd found him repulsive, were suddenly rising into his consciousness. 

Skyler cowered away from him on the bed, but he had already given in to his fury and he couldn't stop himself. He pinned her beneath him, holding her down and trapping her body under his. 

His voice became a low, insinuating taunt. "This isn't never-never-land, little girl, and I ain't Peter Pan. You don't get to come home at night and go to sleep safe in your bed in my world. Why the *fuck* would you go with me?" 

She turned her head to the side and refused to look at him. "I just . . . wanted to be with you, that's all," she said, so softly that he almost didn't hear. "I'm sorry." 

When he heard that, he wanted to just grab her and go. She'd given her consent. What more could he want? But he still couldn't calm himself down. For some reason, the scene had to be played out. He tore off his goggles and tried to get her to look him in the face. 

"Do you have any idea what the fuck you're getting into? Do you?" 

She shook her head back and forth, eyes closed, tears wetting her cheeks. "No... No, I don't." 

Still he held her face and tried to get her to look at him. "But you want me to take you with me?" 

"Yes," she whispered piteously. "But not if you don't want me! Not because you feel sorry for me!" 

That was it. He couldn't take any more. "Look at me!" he ordered hoarsely, his voice raw with emotion. 

Finally, she opened her eyes, and he knew that she saw his fierce hunger for her, his obsession and desire. He could tell that she saw how much he wanted her, that he *had* to have her. And she had already told him what she wanted. 

So he would take her then, and to hell with the consequences. "Get dressed," he barked as he backed off the bed and tried to get hold of himself. Quickly he took out her small travel bag and began to stuff her clothes into it. "I'm the boss, you understand? You do it my way." 

Looking shaky, she got up and put on the clothes she had worn the day before. He pulled out the dresser drawer she had claimed and emptied the whole thing into her bag. Then he went into the bathroom as she laced up her boots, and swept everything on the counter into the bag too. 

"You do *what* I say, *when* I say." 

Skyler said nothing, but grabbed her coat and her electronic organizer and joined him at the door. 

His anger was fading now, but he was deeply ashamed that he had shown her so openly how he felt, and he spoke gruffly to her to make up for it. "Wipe your eyes," he told her, and she did so with her hand. 

"Fix your hair." 

"You have it," she said timidly, gesturing to the bag. "My brush." 

He held open the bag while she searched through it and found the brush. She pulled it through the tangles as quickly as she could before he took the brush away and put it into the bag again. 

He looked at her for a moment before putting his goggles back on. He felt so many different things and had no way to tell her about any of them, to comfort her in any way. So he did the only thing he could think of. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her roughly, his hand caressing her ass, his leg thrust between hers, bending her over backward a little from the sheer force of him. He hadn't known love, but he *had* known sex, and this was the best that he could do for now. 

When he heard her sigh deeply and felt her hands clutching at his clothing, he released her. Then he put on his goggles and picked up both their bags. 

"Exactly as I say," he repeated as he opened the door, and her anxious nodding reassured him. 

It turned out to be incredibly easy getting to the skiff. Almost everyone on board was asleep, even people who were supposed to be awake and on duty. The trip back was a time for everyone to relax a little and take it easy. Security was lax. 

They made it to the cargo bay without a single hitch. Riddick approved of the way Skyler dispelled her emotions and did what he told her to. Sometimes she even anticipated him. Once aboard the skiff, Skyler stowed their bags, then sat down and strapped herself into the co-pilot's chair as Riddick ran last-minute checks on the control board. 

"You're going to need to learn some of this soon. I'll need you to help me," he said casually, as though he asked for help every day of his life. As though it didn't put a twist in his gut to do it. It was okay, though. From now on, she would be far more dependent on him than he would be on her. Only *he* could pilot the ship. And she would have no recourse against him for anything he said or did. He was much bigger and stronger. He would make all the rules. He was in control of the situation. 

Skyler watched him silently and carefully as he started the engines. Her detachment was gone now, and he could see both her anticipation and her apprehension. All systems were in the green, and the only hurdle left was the hanger door. Riddick got out and programmed it for a delayed opening from the bay's operation panel, which gave him enough time to get back into the ship before the door opened and they lost air pressure. It was going to be a rough ride out, especially since everything else in the bay would be sucked out with them at the same time. 

The door would automatically close after five minutes, and Riddick didn't think that anyone would notice the loss of pressure in one small area of the ship for such a short time. He got into his seat as quickly as possible as the skiff's entrance ramp closed, then buckled himself in very tight. Skyler already had her seat belt harness on, which was good, since they were swept toward the opening cargo bay door only seconds later. It wouldn't do any good to steer until they were out of the debris, so they tumbled helplessly until they were well away from the ship and the other junk that had come out of the cargo bay with them. 

Once they were in the clear, and free of the crap that had floated out with them, Riddick gently shifted the engine into gear and the skiff slowly righted itself. Gradually it began to move in a more precise, controlled way, instead of haphazardly drifting and falling, which was a lot like the way Riddick was feeling right now. He switched the controls to automatic and undid his harness. 

"You were going to leave me," Skyler said quietly 

"Yeah, I was." The light in the cabin was low, and Riddick's goggles hung loosely around his neck. "I didn't really think you'd want to come." 

"I *told* you I did," she said plaintively. 

He squatted down in front of the co-pilot's chair and released Skyler's harness for her. "You would have been better off," he said, but he couldn't fight his growing elation, and he couldn't keep it out of his voice. "You can't say I didn't warn you." 

"I won't," she replied with such solemn sincerity that he laughed. 

"You're outta your fucking mind, you know that, don't you?" 

Skyler smiled back at him tentatively. "I guess so." He could almost see her putting aside everything that had just happened and joining him in his euphoria. 

He could sense her caution and hesitation as she leaned forward and began to undress him, stroking him softly as she eased away his clothing. Her hands felt like a spring breeze on his overheated skin, and even her breath was cool as her mouth moved over his body. For his part, Riddick couldn't believe that she wasn't going to turn out to be a fantasy or a fever dream he'd cooked up in the prison infirmary. But here she was: a real, live woman. And she was all his. She was still sitting in the co-pilot's seat, and he lowered the back of it with one hand and unbuttoned her blouse with the other. Then all her clothes were off as well, and he was taking her, knowing once and for all that she was his.


	6. Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyler and Riddick try to get their new identities and new lives in order.

Back to the Present

The first thing Skyler did after they arrived at her friends' place was to set up temporary IDs for themselves. They couldn't use their old ones anymore if they didn't want to be tracked, but they still needed some sort of identity to access communications, finances, and everything else. So they adopted two that had been stolen. Skyler explained that these temporary IDs would serve as a buffer between their old lives and their new ones. So anyone trying to track them would have to sort through at least two identities before they got anywhere. 

Then Skyler set up a series of false leads to throw mercenaries or bounty hunters off their trail. She thought it would be close to impossible to find them through all the static she was creating, as long as she and Riddick were careful. Effectively, both of them were going to "disappear" out of the system. Skyler would never finish paying off her credit accounts; instead she gave them to a friend who was taking a long journey in the opposite direction Skyler and Riddick planned to go. The friend would sell them -- along with one of Skyler's old IDs -- for a nominal fee to someone who wanted a little spending spree, and anybody looking for Skyler through her credit transactions would be led the wrong way. Skyler also canceled most of her online accounts, and sent a misleading forwarding email address to the rest of them. Riddick, who had no ID of any kind except in the penal computer system, did nothing. 

Now they had time to settle down and plan their new lives without any rush. Riddick was pleasantly surprised. It was working out better than he had hoped. He hadn't known in the beginning whether Skyler's plans to help him get away would turn out to be of any use to him or not. But she and her friends turned out to be consummate professionals, and he began to relax and trust their judgment, at least in those areas. 

Skyler told Riddick that the most important part of planning their new lives was establishing the right identities. It was also the hardest part. First, she said, it was much better to steal a legitimate identity from someone else than to make one out of whole cloth. That way, the foundation document was valid, or at least it appeared to be. 

The ideal way to do it was to take the identity of someone who didn't need theirs anymore -- someone who was dead. The best ones belonged to babies who had died shortly after birth, conveniently leaving birth certificates, but no other records. You took that person's ID, forged their birth certificate, and then you became that person, who was otherwise a blank slate in online records. The forgery had to be good, but it didn't have to be perfect, since it would match the legitimate computer records, which already existed. Since a birth certificate was considered the gold standard of identification documents, no one would question it if it looked good and matched what was in the computer. Computer identification was a lot easier to create using a real identity too; the system was more likely to accept an identity verification document if it matched one it already had on file. 

So Skyler set Riddick the task of looking through all the computer services that provided obituaries for the last 40 years. It was best if you found a baby who had been born around the same time you had, and shared some of your physical characteristics, but it wasn't strictly necessary. Riddick figured he and Skyler both could pass for anywhere between 25 and 40 if they needed to, so those were the years he searched. 

Riddick's eyes were starting to water as he looked at yet another screen full of obituaries and death notices. He wished he could just use some kind of search engine or computer program to find what they needed, but the system wasn't set up that way, and even if it were, he would still have to dig through a lot of individual records to find just the right matches. Riddick found it as taxing as any of his physical workouts. 

He was reviewing another individual file from 30 years ago when he felt Skyler's small hands on his shoulders. Ordinarily he would have been surprised that he hadn't heard her approaching, but her sounds had become part of his subconscious and no longer set off any internal alarms. Apparently he also felt fairly safe in this hideout or he wouldn't have been able to relax enough for even Skyler to slip up on him. 

"Find anything good?" she asked as her fingers began massaging the stiffness from his shoulders. 

"Found a pair of Siamese twins about the right age. Found an old man who lived to be 128. But something good for us, no." 

He closed his eyes and relaxed as her hands worked the tension from his back. He heard her shut off the computer screen, so he took off his goggles and rubbed his opalescent eyes. Skyler's strong hands worked down his enormous arms to his hands, where she rubbed each finger before working her way back up to his neck. 

Riddick found himself becoming aroused even though he knew she wasn't trying to turn him on. Well, he'd been a good boy and done his work for today. He deserved a break. He deserved a reward. He took her hands away from his neck and kissed the palms gently before pulling her arms down around him. Then he stood up and she was lifted onto his back. It wasn't far to the bed. 

She crawled off of him as soon as he sat down, and took her clothes off as quickly as she could to avoid having him ruin another set ripping them off of her. Only his shirt was off, but Skyler already felt her arousal as she stared at the rippling muscles of his shoulders and back as he sat on the edge of the bed unlacing his boots. Tentatively, Skyler moved to the floor in front of him, and, after checking the reaction on his face, undid his pants. He stroked her hair as she did so, then it was his turn to be passive as she pleasured him. 

His face in those moments, and in the moments afterward, was so unguarded, so free from the expressions that came from all the years of survival and hatred and anger, that she almost felt like a voyeur, like she had intruded upon his innermost being. But those were the moments when she loved him most. It was seeing his most hidden self in those moments that drew them close together even more than the actual physical sex did, and for that brief time, she lived in his skin with him. 

When Riddick had tried to leave Skyler behind on the freighter, it had seemed like the confirmation of her worst fears. On some level she had been expecting him to abandon her. That was why she had accepted it so easily from him, without anger or argument, only self-blame. He had just been using her -- of course. As long as it was convenient and she was willing, he'd take advantage of it. But now, when it became less convenient, he was going to ditch her. Without even saying good-bye. If he hadn't accidentally woken her up when he was leaving, she would have been left alone and never seen him again. She was nothing to him and it was breaking her heart. 

Because she had gone and fallen in love with him. She hadn't meant to. She knew before she ever spoke to him what kind of a man he was. Even after she had succumbed to the irresistible pull of his gravity, she had known she was little more than a prostitute to him. She had known it in her mind, but it hadn't *felt* that way to her. When they were together, she felt as if they were two halves of the same whole, that they fit together perfectly, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. And as she reluctantly fell in love with him, she'd fantasized that he'd had some feeling for her too, if not love, maybe friendship and affection. She'd felt like her whole body was caving in on itself when he'd opened the door to leave. 

Of course, later she realized that it hadn't been that way at all. Leaving without her had been his way of rejecting her before she could reject him. And trying to go without putting on his goggles . . . well, it could have been accidental, or it could have been his buried heart crying out to her. She would never know. 

He'd only told her bits and pieces about his life, where he'd been, what he'd done, what had happened to him. He didn't like revealing his pain, not to her, or even to himself. So she had to intuit it somehow, layering her own emotions over his stoic descriptions. The beatings from the prison guards. The dysentery that had almost killed him and had wiped out his whole platoon. The whippings and pinches and slaps from the "teachers" in juvie. The fear and revulsion of the women and girls who'd had sex with him for one reason or another. If anyone had ever wanted him for anything -- a strong soldier, a brutal enforcer, a large bounty -- it was regretfully, fearfully. And Riddick would rather be completely alone than be with people who hated and feared him. 

Now he wouldn't be. He had found someone who could love him for himself, willingly, givingly, and he had bound her to himself. She knew the chains she wore on her wrist made Riddick feel more certain of her, more secure. If she had allowed him to do these things to her, then surely she loved him. And she understood that he wanted to possess her utterly, to prevent her from ever leaving him, so he'd made her his "slave." But he had been right the night he'd put the bracelet on her; it changed nothing. Skyler had already been his since the first time they were together; he'd already owned in the most important way a person can be owned: he'd had her heart. 

It took several weeks, but Riddick was finally able to come up with two good IDs. Frederick Douglas Neusom and Serena Connor. Riddick didn't care for the names much, but they would do. Frederick would become Rick, which was fairly close to Riddick in case one of them slipped, and it sounded enough like Riddick to get his attention when someone called him by his new name. Serena wasn't really very close to Skyler, but they'd decided that his nickname for her would be Cara, Italian for "Beloved." So Cara and Skyler rhymed. It was good enough. 

Now Skyler was setting up their new electronic records, and Riddick was learning how to forge documents, just for future reference. Skyler's friends would be supplying their paperwork this time, but it was a good skill to be able to fall back on. Forging itself wasn't hard, but forging *well* -- well enough to fool the authorities -- was. Plain paper documents weren't that bad. A little cut and paste, a little cover stick, the use of a good scanner and printer -- no problem with some practice. The laminated ID cards, which he was working on now, were a little more difficult. It was hard to peel off the layers of laminate to change the little bits inside, but it was coming along. And he hadn't even started learning how to fake identification on the computer. But that was Skyler's specialty anyway, and there would be plenty of time for that later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to http://www.art-of-vin-diesel.com for keeping a copy of my Pitch Black stories for so many years, as well as fan fiction from many other writers and art from fan artists, as well as a collection of pictures and other artistic endeavors.


	7. Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riddick thinks over his relationship with Skyler and his past.

Originally Riddick had started up with Sarah on pure instinct, without any conscious thought. He had been without a woman for a long time, so it was really a no-brainer. When she had come to give him water while he'd been chained up in the cargo bay, he could sense the sexual tension beneath her reserve. Then when she had come to tell him about Johns, her body had been begging him to fuck her, so he had. Nothing remotely similar had ever happened to Riddick before, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He would take what he could get. 

It never even crossed his mind that he could become emotionally involved with her. He'd had bigger things to worry about at the time, and no one had gotten through his emotional barriers in years. Why would it be any different now? After all, he knew better than to invest his feelings in anyone. But before he realized what was happening, Sarah had moved right into his heart. He should have seen it coming the first time she'd spoken to him. She was the first person who had treated him with kindness and respect in a long, long time. And her sexual arousal in his presence alone should have warned him what could happen. But maybe he hadn't wanted to listen. 

So he hadn't seen it coming, and he was already half in love with her when they left the planet. By the time the freighter picked them up, Riddick had become dependent on her, although he would never have admitted it, or even recognized it, had it been pointed out to him. He had come to rely on being able to trust her, and on her trusting him. He loved her unconditional acceptance of him, no matter what murderous thoughts he was entertaining, or the rage he felt toward Johns, and the Slam, and the whole damn universe. She listened when he talked, eased him when he was tense, and slept trustingly curled in the protective curve of his body. 

Dependency, for Riddick, was a very dangerous thing. It had been a long, long time since he had willingly put any part of his life into someone else's hands. He had to be completely sure of her, as sure as he was of himself. If only he knew how to be that sure . . . 

Eventually the bracelet wasn't enough. It had held him for awhile, of course, but about a month later he started turning the little hand-held laser into a branding iron -- again in the design of a stylized sunburst, like the one on her bracelet. It was elegant, really, not like the big ugly tattoos soldiers and mercs usually had. And its lines were razor thin and simple enough that the scar resulting from it would be clear, flat and visible, not thick or heavy or indecipherable, especially since he would use the laser. Ironic that Riddick would take the sun as his symbol, considering that he couldn't stand the sunlight. But maybe he was still able to appreciate the sun even though he'd never see it without sunglasses again. 

~ ~ ~ 

She could tell he was expecting a battle with her over the branding, like the one they'd had about the slave bracelet. This time he wasn't able to hide what he was doing from her as he worked long hours adapting his laser to the branding iron and creating the little metal brand. He didn't even seem to be trying to hide it. He acted as if it were a natural thing, just one more step in their run-of-the-mill, conventional relationship. 

She didn't need to ask what he was doing; she could see for herself. But she couldn't let it go undiscussed either, so she tried to reason with him. They had only established their first new set of identities, she argued. He should wait until they had their final set and were settled somewhere before doing this; there should be no distinguishing marks that could be traced from one identity to the other. 

When that hadn't worked, she'd gone on and talked to him about the potential dangers of branding, especially since he was an amateur. What about scarring and infection? He laughed and said he'd seen and given enough of them in prison to know what he was doing. Finally, in desperation, she tried to talk him into a tattoo instead, but he wouldn't even listen to her. A tattoo just wasn't Riddick's style. He had to burn himself into her body. 

He didn't tell her when he planned to do it, just waited until her friends were away again, and slipped some painkillers into her wine. By the end of dinner, she was woozy enough that she was thinking of just going to sleep there on the couch. Then he brought out the branding iron, and she realized he'd gotten her that way on purpose. In Sarah's condition, running or fighting was out of the question. 

Still, she couldn't help scooting back along the couch until she'd reached the end, and then tried to burrow her way into the arm cushions. When the brand had been sufficiently heated, he picked Sarah up like a rag doll, and gently -- always gently -- sat her down in a kitchen chair and tied her to it. Actually, he mainly concentrated on her upper body and her right arm, the one he wanted to brand, to keep it still. He was afraid that she might move or flinch when the brand touched her skin, which could ruin the design. Unlike a tattoo, the brand would be applied very briefly, but all at once, heated by the laser. 

Sarah thought she would freak out when she saw him coming at her with the brand, but she would not have had the energy to even if she hadn't been tied up. Riddick was quick, but the pain was searing, overwhelming. Sarah thought she was going to pass out either from the wine or from the pain, but she didn't, though the smell of her own flesh burning sickened her a little. But apparently not Riddick. 

"I've always liked mine well-done," he said with a laugh. So she was still awake to watch Riddick take the little brand off the laser he'd used on her, and replace it with a larger one just like it. She dreaded the thought of having that one burned into her skin, but instead Riddick heated up the laser again and applied the larger brand to his own left arm. Only afterward did he pop a painkiller and chase it down with a long swig from the bottle of scotch on the table. 

Now they were a matched set, Sarah thought drunkenly, branded identically. Partners. A team. A couple. Of course the bracelet demonstrated which one of them was in charge...as if there could be any question of it looking at the two of them. The bracelet marked her as his as surely as if she were a real slave. 

Riddick carefully disinfected both their burns and bandaged them up. Sarah couldn't tell if he were in pain, or if the Scotch was dulling it for him. His face was as stoic as ever. Maybe that was good. Maybe now he would let her sleep. But no. Pain or no pain, he made no move to untie her, but instead knelt between her legs, and pulled apart her pant-clad thighs. As his hands stroked her legs higher and higher, he began kissing her bare belly, then moving up to her breasts, his head pushing up her shirt as he nuzzled her. By now his fingers knew all the right ways to excite and arouse her, and so did his mouth. Sarah's breath grew harder and faster as Riddick's soft, soft lips moved over her neck, behind her ears, and finally down to her mouth. Every place he touched, he set on fire. Her body was heating up like the brand had. Unable to stand it any longer, she impulsively wrapped her legs around him, pants, boots and all. He chuckled as he unwound her legs and slowly removed first her boots, then her pants, leaving her in her shirt and underwear. 

He knew she was already excited, but he continued to tease her mercilessly, leisurely peeling off his own clothing as he watched her wriggle against the ropes. Even as he untied her, he moved with exquisite slowness, ignoring her eagerness for him. He undressed her the same way, kissing and caressing each inch of skin as he uncovered it. Finally, when she was as naked as he was, she wrapped her legs around his waist again so he could carry her upstairs, kissing and sucking his neck as he made his way to the bedroom. 

By the time he laid her on the bed, she was ready to devour him whole, but Riddick continued to drive her wild by pulling her hands up over her head and holding them there until they had both finished. Only then did he release her to embrace him, as he savored one last moment inside her before pulling away. 

Birth control hadn't even crossed his mind in the beginning. If some girl got pregnant, it wasn't his problem. By the time it had occurred to him -- by the time it became important -- Sarah had already told him about her hormone implant, which had at least three years left in it. Which was good, because the last thing Riddick wanted -- other than to go back to the Slam -- was a kid. If she'd gotten pregnant, he would have made her abort, rather than let her carry it to term and then abandon it. Better a little fetal tissue down the drain than a baby thrown away like so much garbage. 

Because Riddick knew what it felt like to be discarded like trash. The warden of one of the juvie homes had made sure to tell little Riddick all about it -- even showed him the old newspaper microfiche records to prove it. Richard B. Riddick had been found only a few hours old in a trash dumpster behind a liquor store with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. The warden speculated that his mother had started to strangle him, but stopped when she realized it wasn't worth the effort. A face not even a mother could love. That was Richard B. Riddick. 

Sadly enough, it seemed to be true. Adoptable infants were always at a premium, but baby Riddick apparently wasn't adoptable. First he had been held by the authorities for several months while they looked for his mother, in order to bring her up on charges of child abandonment and attempted manslaughter, and also to get her signature on the adoption forms. They never found her, though, and Riddick was over a year old before he could legally be put up for adoption. Not so much demand for adoptable toddlers, especially an ugly one that cried a lot and wouldn't behave. Undoubtedly his unpleasant disposition, on top of his racial ambiguity, lessened his chances at finding anything but a foster home. Well, at least he'd had *that* for a little while. 

No, Riddick's childhood, outside of his foster family, had been miserable, and he had no desire to force that kind of existence on somebody else. His memories of his foster parents were pleasant, but vague. He estimated he'd been taken from them, for reasons he was never told, at the age of six or seven. Probably had gotten into trouble at school and been taken to the first of many juvenile detention centers. But his foster family must have treated him with some kind of affection, must have cared about him in some way, because he had missed them for awhile. 

And now someone else cared about him. It was odd how the one thing had reminded him of the other. Maybe it was that the way he felt now reminded him of that other time when had felt something similar. He felt alive. 

In fact, Riddick felt more alive when he was with Sarah than he’d ever felt before, more alive than when they were apart. It was almost as if she were a mirror for him. He could see himself reflected in the emotions on her face when he told her what to do; when he gave her pleasure with his hands and his mouth and his dick; when she looked for his approval before she did anything. And she was constantly aware of his presence, as if he were the most important person in the room, her lifeline to safety. He felt unselfconscious and whole when she was with him. He felt *real.*


	8. Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riddick has surgery to fix his "shined" eyes.

When Sarah woke up, the painkillers had worn off and the burn on her arm gave off constant signals of pain underneath the bandages. She sat up, took a couple of pain relievers from the bedside table with a swallow of last night's wine, and wondered where Riddick had put the stronger stuff. She could use some of it right now. 

At least this time he had marked himself the same way he had marked her, she thought as she showered, keeping the bandaged area on her arm dry. It seemed less an indication of ownership, then, than a sign that they were paired. No one could see their identical markings -- and the slave bracelet -- and fail to understand the nature of their relationship. Judging by the permanence of Riddick's markings, he seemed to believe they were mated for life. In any case, she hoped this would hold him for awhile, ease his restlessness to mark her body this way, to make his private claim on her a public one. 

She dried off and dressed carefully to avoid further irritating the wound. She'd hated being branded, like she'd hated getting the slave bracelet, but she understood instinctively what they meant. His desire to own her completely corresponded to his overwhelming need for her, the terrifying fear of losing her. He had to control what he could not afford to lose. As always, the master was as tightly bound to the slave, as the slave was to the master. The lover could not exist without the beloved. For Riddick, loss of Sarah would be loss of self, at least the self that had come into being when they had met her. 

She knew he didn't really own her. She had the money and contacts to leave any time she wanted. The danger was not losing her freedom; it was losing Riddick if she did not submit to him. Because it was as he said; he called the shots, and that's the way it had to be. If she didn't like it, she could leave. Except, of course, that she couldn't. Even if he didn't really own her body, he owned her soul. 

She was willing to pay almost any price to stay with him. She fretted about him like a child when they weren't together, or perhaps more the way a child frets when she has gotten lost from her mother in a public place. She could hardly bear to be apart from him, and when they were together, they touched each other constantly. She acted as if she were just humoring him by satisfying his constant sexual demands -- but in truth, she loved to be wanted that much. And her need for him was at least as much as his need for her, or so she believed. 

She loved his over sized desire for her, and she loved the way he made love to her. She'd had selfish lovers before, who satisfied themselves quickly inside her, then pulled away as if it had been nothing, impersonal. As if her pleasure would be meaningless for them. The only thing they exchanged were bodily fluids. 

It was entirely different with Riddick. When he overpowered her in his desire to consume her body with his own, she knew it was because she had inspired his passion. It was a profoundly personal exchange, not the rape of a stranger by an unknown assailant, but the expression of an almost uncontrollable need for a very specific woman. It was only through knowing her that he hungered for her. And rather than gratifying himself by simple force, he took Sarah time and time again to prove his right to her, his possession of her. Because if he had a right to her, then he could not be irredeemable after all. 

Sarah realized as she dressed that once again that her friends were going to raise their eyebrows at each other when they saw her with the bandage, as they had when they first got a glimpse of the slave bracelet. But they had raised their eyebrows too when she had first brought Riddick to them, and they had gotten used to him well enough -- as much as anyone ever got "used" to Riddick. And aside from her new accessories, she was just like she had always been: quietly efficient in her business transactions; friendly with the group, but not seeking the spotlight; just one of the guys. 

Riddick himself usually kept a low profile, letting Sarah make arrangements for their stay here, their new IDs and their travel plans. Sometimes it almost seemed as if she were the leader of the pair, but she always obeyed Riddick unquestioningly when he indicated that he'd rather she stay at the house with him than go to the town with her friends for supplies, or that it was time for them to go back to their quarters at the end of the evening. But soon enough their relationship began to seem normal, natural, comfortable, in fact. The ease with which Riddick and Sarah accepted each other made the others feel easy with them too. And the fact that they didn't know anything about Riddick at all didn't seem to matter. 

Riddick had learned to manipulate people at a very young age. He could usually find a way to get what he wanted if given the opportunity, and his skills of understanding and influencing people were only heightened by his time in prison. With the prison guards, for example; if he couldn't get their respect, he could at least gain their fear, and perhaps their disbelief at what he would go through to live on his own terms. But the effect he had on them was minimal at best. It changed nothing about their treatment of him, or made any difference in his immediate environment. Still, he could see the difference in their eyes sometimes, and that showed he was a man at least in that small measure. 

Things were different with Sarah and her friends though. They had an easy camaraderie that came from knowing each other and working together a long time. Riddick's only relationships with people up to that point had been based on hatred, fear, grudging respect or complete indifference. He had not experienced, or even seen first hand, friendships or relationships based on love or mutual affection. He'd read about them, seen them in movies, but they had always seemed like science fiction to him -- pleasant to think about, but hard to believe in. 

Until now, Riddick had used his talent for manipulation for his own selfish purposes, mainly survival. He could tell within moments of meeting a man if he were smart or only clever, stupid or just pretending to be, reckless or likely to back down if confronted. It was only a small step from there to being able to find the levers that would move people. Everyone had their hot buttons, their sensitive areas. Some people responded best to fear. Others to anger, or respect. Some even reacted best when treated with a small measure of kindness, but those people were rare in Riddick's world. 

Women, sometimes, had been like that. Most of the women Riddick had ever known had been whores or camp followers. He'd never had one of his own, but he could often get one to accommodate him with the right tool: a compliment, a threat, an insult. Usually without paying. And since they cared nothing about him, they often insisted on getting some satisfaction from him. That was the way he learned what women liked, and he became a skilled sexual partner, if not a lover. He could never quite manage to get women to kiss him, though, not without physical force, and he didn't like to use that for sex. 

It was not that way with Sarah, though. She seemed to kiss him constantly. The taste of her mouth was so sweet he sometimes lost himself there, pressing his lips against hers until both their mouths felt bruised. It seemed strange to him to find so much satisfaction that way, when he'd thought before that it could only be a short prelude to fucking, only a lead-in to the real thing. That's what he had always told himself, anyway. Before. 

Now Riddick was learning new ways to use his skills. For example, here, in the company of friends, the best way to exploit someone's most tender vulnerability might be to overlook it in order to win that person's gratitude or affection. This kind of behavior was outside the realm of Riddick's experience, and he observed Sarah and her friends carefully to see how they did it. It was hard for Riddick to get the hang of, but it seemed to be at least as effective as threats or intimidation, so he kept trying. 

When Riddick was able to read Sarah, as he often was, and use his extraordinary skills to intuit her worries and fears, her needs and desires, she reacted with surprise and even awe. She seemed to think he was able to read her mind. And the way her understood her body and her moods seemed like a sixth sense to her. He knew Sarah had gotten used to men who had sex with her only out of their own self-centered lusts and desires, and that all she had been to them was a body with a pleasant face. He wondered why they hadn't just used whores, if that was all they were wanted. 

So Sarah was all the more surprised and pleased whenever he concentrated more on her body than he did on his own. He'd never been this intimate with a woman, and he reveled in finding ways to bring her to ecstasy, knowing they were evidence of his mastery over her. The power he felt when she submitted to him felt more powerful than anything he had ever experienced. And if Sarah found him lacking in romantic gestures or sweet words, it didn't seem to matter, since she seemed to know what he was feeling almost as well as he did. 

Sarah found Riddick sitting on the porch, taking in the landscape through his tinted goggles. This was to be the morning of Riddick's eye surgery, and for a moment Sarah wondered if that had been what prompted the timing of the branding session the night before. 

Now was the ideal time to get Riddick's eyes fixed. Their new identities were ready to go, and all the paperwork was complete and financial accounts had been set up in their new names. Riddick had traded the skiff for a small exploration ship that was faster and had more firepower than anyone would guess by looking at it. All they were waiting on now was Riddick's eyes. 

As soon as they had moved in with Sarah's friends, weeks ago, she had gotten into contact with the best black market doctor in this sector. He had put her on his waiting list, but he was a busy man; he hadn't been able make it out their way until now, and even now he had to leave quickly. Usually the surgeon did one eye first, waited 48 hours for it to heal, then did the other eye, so the patient was never completely blinded. But not this time. The doctor couldn't stay that long, so Riddick would have to have both eyes done at once, and suffer the resulting temporary blindness.

Riddick had been blindfolded for days at a time before, and the prospect of two more days of temporary blindness didn't bother him. Sarah's friends' house was safe enough, and he still had the use of the rest of his remarkable senses until the bandages came off. Unlike his surgery in prison, this time he accepted the local anesthesia before the procedure. He now felt alive enough already without the pain to remind him of it. 

The surgery went fairly quickly, and the doctor performed it right in Riddick's bedroom, so Riddick didn't even have to get up when it was over. He planned to stay in this room for the next two days until he could see again. 

Sarah lay down with Riddick as soon as the doctor left. He held his arm open for her, as if he could see her still, and she lay down comfortably in his embrace. The surgery had been tiring for both of them, and they slept for awhile before waking up again in the late afternoon. 

Sarah had planned on doing nothing for two days so she could spend the time with him. He was still drained even after sleeping, though, and didn't seem to want to talk. He stroked her body lazily as he rested. Sarah had never seen him this passive before, so she took the opportunity to explore his body in way she'd never done before. She started with the broad expanse of his chest, which, for the most part, was smooth, but she still found a few of the small round burn marks that had to have come from cigarettes. They looked very old, and she guessed they had been given to him when he was very young, before he was big enough to defend himself. Riddick was aware of her scrutiny. 

"The human ashtray, that's me. Oh, yeah, scratch the 'human' part though," he chuckled. 

Sarah didn't think it was funny at all, and she was glad that he couldn't see the way her eyes were tearing up at the thought of the little boy who had been held down and burned with cigarettes. She kissed each small mark as she continued her exploration of his body, finding every knife scar and every bump from a healed broken bone. She caressed the places on his wrists and ankles that had been rubbed raw by shackles, or chains, or ropes. She licked the marks the horse bit had made on the inside of his mouth. And she cried silently the entire time. 

When Riddick reached up to touch her face, he felt the dampness of her tears. No one had ever cried over his pain before. Even when she'd cried back on the freighter, it was because she thought he was leaving her. But this was selfless and compassionate, crying that was done only for him. He brought her face down to his own and kissed her, tasting the salt on her lips. Now he comforted her, for her grief over his lifetime of pain, as she comforted him for having endured it.


	9. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bandages come off of Riddick's eyes and he and Skyler try to get on with their new life.

Sarah was more nervous than Riddick when they took the bandages off his eyes. They had dimmed the lights, as the doctor had suggested, and plenty of saline solution ready if he had any discomfort. Two of Sarah's friends stood in the doorway, watching, as she removed the gauze. Then his eyelids opened, and she could see his natural eye color. She could see that his eyes were brown. 

Riddick too noticed color immediately as he opened his eyes. The original polish that had been done in prison had limited his perception of the color spectrum significantly. He had been able to see in the dark, but only shapes and silhouettes mostly, all in pink against a black background. It had been better with the goggles on, but still. . . 

First, he asked that the lights be lifted, and Sarah's friends complied. He examined her face and hair with new attention as the electronic lights came on full, then he stood and went to the window and opened the shades, seeing the afternoon sunlight for the first time in a long time. Centuries, it seemed like. Another life ago. And now that would be literal. 

Dreaming, or rather, the lack of it was Riddick's main worry. Sometimes he slept during cryo; sometimes he didn't. When he didn't -- like on the Hunter-Gratzner -- time passed very slowly and very strangely. Riddick suspected that he had some degree of control over whether he stayed awake or not. When he'd first boarded the crash ship, for example, he'd been desperate to escape, and maybe he'd been able to shake off cryo-sleep enough to allow his mind more time to figure out how to get away. There had been several times when he had gone all the way under, like you were supposed to, but once or twice, he hadn't been fully awake or fully asleep during the long cryo journey, and that was an endless nightmare. 

So his anticipation of starting over was tempered by his dread of entering the cryo sleep chamber for the long trip to New Australia. He'd even looked into the possibilities of taking a non-cryo ship, like the freighter that had rescued them, but the trip would take several years, not several months, so it would have been impractical as well as unaffordable, even if it had been offered for such a long journey. He even considered puddle-hopping their way there over the course of a few years, but their new identities -- and most of Sarah's business contacts -- were in the next quadrant, a couple of light years away. Well, he'd faced worse before. 

Only once had he told Sarah that he hadn't been asleep on the Hunter-Gratzner when it crashed, and he hadn't gone into much detail either. As far as he knew, she had no idea of his discomfort at the idea of a long sleep. So it came as a real surprise when she suggested they cryo together. 

"Together?" he asked incredulously, although the idea was immediately appealing. 

"Yeah. You know, like they do with mothers and small children sometimes. Or twins. We could do that, couldn't we?" 

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I haven't had a lot of experience making my own travel arrangements. How hard would it be to set up?" 

She smiled to see that he seemed to be accepting her suggestion. Sarah herself had never had any problems with cryo-sleep, but her life was tied to Riddick's now, and if having her in the chamber with him -- even if she was unconscious -- would provide him with any comfort, then she wanted to give it to him. "I'm not sure," she said. "Let me check with the booking agent." 

So in the end, that's what they did. Riddick was huge, but Sarah was small, so together they didn't take up any more room than any other two adults in adjoining cryo cells together. The crew simply removed the divider between two adjacent sleep chambers and synched up their life support systems. It would have made some people nervous to have their life support connected to someone else's, but by this time, Sarah and Riddick already accepted that their lives were linked. 

This time there was no bit for Riddick, and no blindfold, which made it an automatic improvement over the last sleep he had taken. No blindfold to shield his eyes from the light. No shackles to hold him motionless. Just the little suction cups on his body to monitor his vital signs, and an IV to keep him hydrated and nourished along the way. The attendant helped them put on their monitoring equipment, and then they stepped into the little cryo chamber, first Riddick, with his back to the divider, and then Sarah, facing him. They put their arms around each other as they were secured and the chamber door swung shut. Then the cryo drugs started to take effect, but Riddick was able to relax, because no matter what happened now, he would not be alone. And he was actually not that surprised to find himself falling asleep as easily as he had ever done, only this time he dreamed of Sarah.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to http://www.art-of-vin-diesel.com for keeping a copy of my Pitch Black stories for so many years, as well as fan fiction from many other writers and art from fan artists, as well as a collection of pictures and other artistic endeavors.


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